And Then It Was Gone
by Serie11
Summary: End!Verse. Dean comes in with a fatal wound, and Castiel knows that he is the only one who can heal it - but there is a price for everything.


And Then It Was Gone

Watching Dean drive off was one of the hardest things Castiel had ever done. He knew that this was just a routine patrol, that nothing ever really happened, but it was the _ever really_ that he was stuck on. What if today Dean didn't come back? What if Castiel never got to see him again, or worse, only saw his lifeless body?

Castiel shook his head. Dean was better than that. He wouldn't let himself get hurt. He knew that he had to find that Colt and he had to stop Lucifer. He wouldn't do anything reckless.

For the thousandth time Castiel wished that Sam was here. He knew that the older Winchester had told his brother that they should stay apart, but Castiel had always thought that the Winchesters fought better together. He would leave that one up to Dean though. It wasn't like he could just fly around trying to find Sam anymore. He hardly had enough Grace left for anything.

Smiling bitterly to himself, he flicked his wings and landed in the prophet's small room. "Anything?" He asked, like he did every day.

Chuck slowly shook his head, his eyes on his feet. "I'll tell you if anything comes up."

It was their daily routine, and Castiel would not abandon it, no matter how fruitless it was. Asking Chuck if he had received any messages from Heaven was the only thing that connected him to his brothers and sisters, besides his slowly receding Grace.

Castiel was just thankful that flying did not consume any of his remaining Grace, at least over short distances, and even if he could no longer carry any passengers without feeling the dizzying effect of what made him up leaving him slowly. His wings just were – using them did not have any ill side effects.

Pacing did not relive him of his slowly accumulating stress, so he walked the perimeter, a gun in his hand. He could always kill the humans affected with the virus, of course, but that would chew up a significant amount of power, as the Croatoan virus was demon originated.

Castiel knew that the people in the camp felt something off about him. They did not know of either Chuck's true calling or the falling angel's species, but they could mark the two sentences that passed between them every day, and nothing else, they could mark the fact that Dean held him in such high regard despite not really listening to any other opinion. They knew he was different.

They just didn't know _how_ different.

/\/\/\/\/\

Seeing the patrol vehicles coming in was a relief to Castiel's worried state. That was, until he saw how hurried the people were who got out, how he couldn't see Dean among them. When he saw the makeshift stretcher he almost lost control and flew over to his hunter, but refrained. Instead, he went to their semi-degreed doctor, Elspeth. He almost scared her into dropping some of their precious medicine.

"Cas! You scared me. I didn't realise you were there."

"Dean has been injured in the patrol."

All humour fled from Elspeth's face. "How bad?"

"I do not know. I came here as quickly as I could to tell you."

"Okay, that's okay." Elspeth grabbed half a dozen bandages, pill bottles, syringes, some sort of medicinal tools that Castiel could not see, and shoved them all into Castiel's arms. "Carry those. They'll have put him in his room."

Just then Bill came through the door. "Elspeth! Dean's been…" He looked at the medicinal supplies for a second before both men were herded out of the door by the doctor.

"I know, I know. What is it?"

Bill swallowed heavily. "Gut shot. Some Croat had a gun. We weren't expecting it and then suddenly Dean was down –"

"I don't need the circumstances." But she had paled. Without the modern technology that had been available only a few years before, keeping Dean alive through the next hour would be difficult, let alone healing him.

Running to keep up with the fleet footed doctor, Castiel followed behind her as she pushed into Dean's room.

Even as he saw it he knew that there was no way Dean was going to heal under normal circumstances. Organs had been torn into, and muscle had been shredded. Chuck was holding a pressure pad over the wound, but he ceded the place to Castiel as soon as he kneeled next to Dean.

Dean looked up at him through half lidded eyes. "Hey Cas. It's pretty bad, isn't it? They won't tell me."

"For good reason." Castiel growled out. He knew what he had to do, he just had to prepare himself for it. Reaching for his belt knife, he slit open Dean's shirt, baring his shoulder and more importantly, the handprint branded onto it.

"Cas, what are you doing?" Elspeth's voice is hesitant, and Castiel can feel her uncertainty.

"You will not be able to save him." Castiel hears his voice ring with confidence, even as it is only a slight murmur. He knows that Elspeth bites her lip because yes, yes she knows she can't do anything, but Castiel can. "But I can."

"You have no medical training Cas. I know you don't want him to…" She hesitates. "You can't do anything Cas."

"And that's where you're wrong. Chuck." The prophet jumps, clearly not expecting to be addressed. "Don't let them interrupt."

Chuck looks down at him with pity in his eyes, but he nods.

"Cas," Dean slurs. "Cas, no, you can't. You can't, you'll Fall."

"Then I Fall." Castiel takes off his own shirt, feeling the eyes of the other people in the room looking at him in confusion. He ignores them. "I have told you that I would die for you, I have died for you, I would Fall for you, and it looks like I'm going to fulfil that promise too."

"Cas. No. Don't."

"You can't stop me Dean. Be quiet. If you get to choose what you die for, then so do I."

For the last time Castiel sends his consciousness through the camp and surrounding woods, trying to memorize the feeling of being an angel, of being something _more_. He stretches his wings, feeling them brush the walls of the room, becoming almost physical. It's a testament to how weak he's become when the few humans still left in the room look at them with wide eyes, eyes that are not being burnt out of their heads.

Fitting his hand to the scar is easy, and he feels Dean's soul thrum through their bond, and he looks at it one last time, trying to imprint the image of its beauty into his mind.

The soul is fading however, so Castiel removes the bandage and places the hand not fitted into the handprint scar onto the open wound, leans down and presses his forehead to Dean's cool one, and pours his essence into the body before him.

Almost immediately Dean begins screaming, and it isn't long before Castiel is as well, but for different reasons. Castiel can't spare the energy to kill the pain, so Dean can feel his stomach being knotted and healed back together. That, plus the fact that an angel's Grace is currently pushing its way into his body, even if he is healing it.

Castiel can feel his core departing, what little remains of his Grace, being ripped slowly from him. He wants to stop, wants to take back all the energy he's giving away, but the wound is still fatal and Dean can't die, he can't leave, and if he has to Fall to make it that way, then so be it.

As his Grace leaves, his true form bleeds out from the cracks in his vessel, his true voice is lifted in pain. He hears the people yelling, hears Chuck shouting, hears the windows in the room crack and hears the glass shatter as it falls onto the floor.

Then suddenly it's all gone, no more light, no more ear-splitting angel voice. No more Grace.

And it's in that moment that Castiel feels his wings being ripped from him.

It's one of those moments where it actually happens in half a second but it feels like it's minutes long. The slow parting, then the unhurried and steady rip as it separates, taking the last of what makes him an angel with it.

Head spinning, Cas collapses, sprawling out on top of Dean. Dean is still gasping under him, but when Cas lifts an eyelid he can see that Dean is perfectly healed.

"Cas! Cas! Castiel, don't you die on me!" Dean's voice comes from far away, and Cas giddily thinks that some time has passed, as now he's laid out on the bed where Dean was, Elspeth working frantically at bandaging his back, trying to sew up the two gaping gashes that run parallel to his spine.

"Not Castiel anymore," the fallen angel manages to slur out.

"What?" Dean leans closer.

"The –iel on my name. It means 'of God'. I'm not of God anymore. Only angels are, and I'm not an angel any longer." Cas is impressed with himself for getting that out. It seems to be a significantly long sentence for someone who is bleeding out on a bed during the Apocalypse.

"Can't he heal himself? He healed you!" Elspeth's voice sounds half confused half afraid.

"He can't do that, didn't you hear him! He wasted the last of his mojo on me, he's not an angel anymore." Cas feels Dean's hand slip through the strands of his hair. It's a nice last feeling to have, Cas thinks dazedly.

There's a pause. "He was an angel?" Elspeth's voice is disbelieving. "Dean there's no such thing as angels."

"You believe in demons, but suddenly when the other end of the spectrum is reversed you can't wrap your head around it?" Dean voice is hissing out between his teeth, and Cas knows that that means that he's mad.

"There's no evidence!"

"What about the man bleeding out in front of you where his wings were ripped out of his body!"

Cas felt the fingers leave his hair, and sighed in disappointment, but felt a well of contentment when the hand moved to cup his cheek. "It'll be okay Cas. Everything's going to be fine."

Cas has nothing to say to that. Dean isn't the one who had just lost his self, Dean wasn't the one who was bleeding out, and Dean definitely wasn't the one who had tears streaming down his face.

Cas cried for the unfairness of it all.


End file.
